In hindsight, Tristan
knew he should've seen it coming. Hindsight is, after all, 20/20.
At the time, however, he was completely blindsided.

As he looked back, he
realized it had been a long time coming. The way his mother always
seemed ready to cry whenever she looked at him; the very vague
counseling sessions he'd been forced to go to at the church –
even though he'd stopped going the year before. Everything added
up. In hindsight.

But by the time he
realized it, it was all too late.

Tristan McNeill was a
typical seventeen year old boy. He liked hanging out with his
friends, playing sports, and going out to parties most weekends. Oh,
and he was gay.. but no one knew that – or so he thought.

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.
Oh. I have practice after school, so I'll be late." He picked up
his bag, and was just about to leave when his father stopped him.

"Hang on. I'll give
you a ride.. drop you off on my way."

"You.. work on the
other side of town, Dad." Tristan heard the muffled sound of his
mother sobbing in the kitchen, but when he turned to see what was
wrong, he was pulled back towards the door.

"Come on, son."

"I.. Wait. Is
everything okay?"

"Oh. Her mother's
sick."

".. Grandma's sick?
Shit, is she going to be okay?" Tristan frowned, and tried to look
back again, wanting to tell his mother he was sorry about Grandma.

Tristan's father
nodded and started ushering him back towards the door. "It's only
a routine surgery. You know your mother." The older man forced a
chuckle as they left the house. Tristan climbed into the passenger
seat of the car and noticed a duffle bag sitting in the front of the
car. His father followed Tristan's gaze and turned the key into
the ignition as he tossed the bag in the backseat. "I've got a
golf game this afternoon."

And, with that one last
lie, they were off. The ride was fairly quiet – at least until they
drove past Tristan's school.

Tristan nodded with a
sigh and sank back into his seat. He contented himself by turning on
the radio station he liked, and this time, for whatever reason, his
father didn't complain at all. Warning bells should have gone off
in Tristan's head, but he didn't notice.

It was nearly
forty-five minutes from when they passed Tristan's school that his
father finally slowed the car down. They were practically at city
limits. He pulled up in front of a large beige building with
'Rainbow's End' on a sign over the front door. Next to the sign
was a large drawing of a pot of gold.

Once the car had come
to a stop, Tristan's father put his hand on his son's shoulder
with a heavy sigh.

"Son.. you're going
to be staying here for a few months."

"… what the hell is
this place?"

"We.. your mother and
I.. decided that this was best for you after we found all… those
websites on your computer." He cleared his throat. It took Tristan
a second to clue into what his father meant.. and when he did, well..
he wished he hadn't.

".. oh, god." His
parents saw his porn. His gay porn.

"We think you have a
sickness, Tristan. We're.. we're not angry at you. It's a
disease. And these people can help you. We talked to them a couple of
weeks ago, and they're willing to try and get you better."

"Dad, what is this
place?" Tristan asked again, with a fresh feeling of dread washing
over him.

There was no answer.
Tristan watched his father swallow, and unlock the car doors. A
handsome, smiling man in his mid-twenties was headed towards the car
just as Tristan exited, taking the bag that his father handed him.
'Idiot'. He thought to himself. He should've known the bag was
meant for him.

"Hi, there. You must
be Tristan. We've been expecting you."

"Skip the fucking
speech, and pour me some of that kool-aid." Tristan said darkly.

"Tristan!" His
father snapped. The young man in the suit merely chuckled.

"Believe me. I've
heard worse. I felt a lot like you did when I first came here. And
now I've made it my life's work helping young men like you find
their true selves and be happy, as God intended."

"Oh, Jesus."

With another 'Watch
it.' Look towards his son, the older man sighed and climbed back
into the car, starting it again.

"D-Dad.. Wait. You
can't honestly be leaving me here!" Tristan cried, dropping the
bag and chasing after the car, only to see it disappear down the
road.

"Come on in, Tristan.
You missed breakfast—"

"Wafers and grape
juice?" He snarked. The man's smile faltered, but only for a
moment. "Look. Level with me. Is this a degayification camp?"

He laughed. "No. We
just help troubled young men and women see the light. Or.." He
said, motioning to the mural on the wall by the door. "The pot of
gold at the end of the rainbow."

The mural creeped the
hell out of Tristan. It was a huge rainbow with teenage boys and
girls crowded around a pot of gold, all grinning and holding hands
with Jesus. 'I'm in hell'. He thought. 'I'm in hell for
looking at so much porn.'

"All of the
counselors have been through what you're going through, Tristan. So
if you ever need to talk, we're here for you."

They stopped at the end
of a long hallway. "Here's your room. Group therapy starts a
little before lunch, so you'll have a few hours to bond with your
roommate. He'll show you around the grounds and take you to group."

As they opened the
door, they were greeted by the sight of a young man, bent over
putting laundry away. Tristan could've sworn he saw the counselor
wet his lips. Excusing himself, he let Tristan into the room and
closed the door. Tristan's new roommate stood up with a wide grin.

"I like to mind-fuck
them whenever possible." He extended a hand towards Tristan. "Hey.
I'm Mars. Welcome to Hell."

Marshall frowned for a
moment, and sighed. "They.. Well, they like to say it does. My
roomie before you? He was.. cured." He said the word with a
distasteful tone. "He was dating some former lesbian, and they were
engaged, last I heard. It's kind of scary."

"Scary?"

"Their entire
personality just… disappears. He was a really cool guy." Marshall
just sighed and lay back on the bed.

"I already hate this
place." Tristan muttered, sitting on his own bed and seeing a grin
from the redheaded boy on the other side of the room.

"Yeah. I bet. But
there are only three ways to leave this place." Marshall sat up
only slightly. "One – if they cure you."

"They better not hold
their breath. And can you stop using that word?"

"Which?"

"'Cure'. It
creeps the hell out of me."

"Sorry. Anyway.
Number two – when you turn eighteen, they can't stop you from
leaving, no matter what your parents say."

He was almost afraid to
ask Marshall what the last way was. But he did. "And the last?"

"Death, or insanity."
Marshall's grin was gone now.

".. insanity?"

"There was a guy in
the room across from me named Kyle. Very cute. Anyway. They came in
one night after lights out and Kyle was blowing his roommate."

Tristan let out a low
whistle. Although, he thought to himself, the prospect of doing such
a thing to Marshall didn't seem too bad at all. Marshall had
referred to that other boy as 'very cute'. 'He's got to be
up there on the 'cute' scale.' Tristan thought to himself.

"Yeah.. and I guess
it wasn't his first strike, either. They were really close. That's
what's always bugged me about this place." Marshall said, toying
with his hair as he shifted positions on the bed. "One of the
many. Putting two gay boys in their sexual prime and telling them
they can't do anything? Kinda like putting a drug addict in a room
with a pile of pure cocaine and telling him 'No snorting'. "
Tristan laughed and made a noise of agreement.

"According to James
– my former roommate – Kyle and .. hell." He sighed, thinking.
".. Rich. They were going to date seriously when they got out of
here. It sounded like they weren't too far away from it, either.
But, Kyle got dragged out of here on a stretcher. Rich left a couple
weeks ago."

Tristan leaned forward
so far that he damn near fell off of the bed. "What happened?"

"Electroshock."

He gaped, looking at
Marshall closely to determine whether or not it was some kind of
joke. "Isn't that.. illegal?"

Marshall shrugged.
"Don't know. It's kind of the final strike for you here. Not
that the other punishments are fun, mind you. I've gotten to strike
one so far. Had to scrub the bathroom with a toothbrush."

"Jesus Christ."
Tristan sighed and lay back. "How long have you been here?"

"Couple months. I
have about six left."

"Can't you just
pretend you turned straight?"

"Better men have
tried.. it didn't go over well." He looked over with a sigh. "I
can see this will be difficult."

"What will?"

"Not kissing you.
You're very good-looking, Tristan."

Again, he wasn't sure
if Marshall was joking or not, but Tristan was distracted by the
large crucifix hanging on the wall between the two beds.

"Jesus!" Tristan
jerked, wide-eyed. Marshall laughed.

"Yeah. You never
quite get used to him. Hey. Tristan. Mind helping me test a theory?"
Mars pulled himself from the bed and walked to where Tristan was
sitting. Dumbfounded, Tristan nodded. Marshall nodded in return as if
he was giving something great thought. Then, without warning, leaned
up and kissed Tristan firmly on the lips.

Once Tristan got over
the initial shock of having the Son of God bear witness to his very
first kiss, he moaned.

Mars pulled away with a
quiet shuddering gasp. "It's just as I feared." He whispered,
his breath warm against Tristan's lips.

"Wh.. what?"
Tristan managed.

"I'm still very,
very much a homosexual."

Tristan watched
Marshall's face for a moment; studied the way the other boy's
glistened mischievously, and then promptly burst into laughter
himself.

"Come on." Mars
took Tristan's hand into his own and hauled him to his feet with a
light grunt. "Allow me to show you the grounds."

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.